Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/61

BOOK II.] We beat with thundering hoofs the level sand.

Midway on long Winander's eastern shore,

Within the crescent of a pleasant bay,

A tavern stood; no homely-featured house,

Primeval like its neighbouring cottages,

But 'twas a splendid place, the door beset

With chaises, grooms, and liveries, and within

Decanters, glasses, and the blood-red wine.

In ancient times, and ere the Hall was built

On the large island, had this dwelling been

More worthy of a poet's love, a hut,

Proud of its own bright fire and sycamore shade.

But—though the rhymes were gone that once inscribed

The threshold, and large golden characters,

Spread o'er the spangled sign-board, had dislodged

The old Lion and usurped his place, in slight

And mockery of the rustic painter's hand—

Yet, to this hour, the spot to me is dear

With all its foolish pomp. The garden lay

Upon a slope surmounted by a plain

Of a small bowling-green; beneath us stood

A grove, with gleams of water through the trees

And over the tree-tops; nor did we want

Refreshment, strawberries and mellow cream.